For Earth Day: Keep an Eye on the Sky

With Earth Day approaching, I find myself thinking less about the planet that grounds us and more about the sky beyond. Today’s clear blue sky is living proof of how our human family, when properly motivated, can solve problems.

I remember that first Earth Day in 1970. A 25-year-old naive idealist, I was living on Vashon Island in Puget Sound. A few of us islanders marched down our rural highway in protest of pollution, pollutants, and polluters. We didn’t exactly attract a crowd.

Sunsets in those days were spectacular because the air from Tacoma to Seattle and beyond was dense with industrial and vehicular emissions. A college friend, who’d just earned his business degree, worked at the St. Regis mill on Tacoma’s tide flats, source of the notorious “Tacoma aroma.” He’d make a point of drawing a deep breath and declaring, “Ah, the smell of money!”

After all these years, the Tacoma aroma is no more. I still enjoy sunsets over Puget Sound, but the colors are more delicate, splayed across clear blue skies. What happened? In that year, the Clean Air Act was passed and the Environmental Protection Agency created. By the 1990s, Americans were getting on board with recycling, and in 2010, a billion people participated globally in Earth Day events.

This year’s worldwide Earth Day challenge is “Planet vs. Plastics.” If you want to get hyped and have 48 seconds to spare, catch the video on the Earth Day website: https://www.earthday.org/.

Plastic is a tragic legacy of my generation. Remember the one word of advice offered to Dustin Hoffman’s character in “The Graduate”? 

“Plastics!” It might as well have been a snake hissing, “Eat the apple!”

But I was speaking of air quality. Stay with me, if you would, because Washington state has one of the most advanced programs in the nation to curtail green house gases — the Climate Commitment Act. Yet on Earth Day, instead of celebrating progress, we’ll be hunkering down to withstand a predictably noisy campaign to repeal that law. It’s one of those confusing ballot issues: if you’re for something, like clean air, you have to vote against.

The CCA is a cap-and-trade program. Simply put, a hundred or so major polluters in the state are required to pay for polluting above a certain level. The law went into effect just last year, yet already raised $1.5 billion. That money is designated for a vast array of programs, such as assisting communities that are overburdened by their industrial neighbors, combatting wildfires, and making public transportation available to more of the public.

The repeal effort started with one wealthy hedge fund manager who poured a million bucks into putting six initiatives before the Legislature. He was the single largest backer. Thus, along with other complex issues, we voters will be asked to consider Initiative 2117, repealing the CCA. Given that many millions will be spent on the campaign, those numbers — 2117 — will likely be imprinted deep into our brains. Bill Gates, who easily has as much money to toss around as any hedge fund manager, has already contributed a million to defeat the initiative.

Another opponent includes — astonishingly — one of the bigger polluters, oil company BP, which operates the largest refinery at Cherry Point. Apparently BP accepts paying for the cap-and-trade allowances as an inevitable cost of doing business. The company issued a statement saying the law “helps companies develop climate strategies.”

As my college buddy all those years back in Tacoma said, “Ah, the smell of money!” As the barrage of 2117 and all the other political advertising gets underway, I’m sensing a coma aroma. 

A Response to Thomas Wolfe: You can indeed go home again

“You Can’t Go Home Again” author Thomas Wolfe warned in the title of his classic American novel. Heeding his advice, I was careful not to say — or even think — I was going back “home.” I’d rented a car to drive to the Okanogan Valley, where I’d lived for forty-five years. It was my first return trip since moving to Seattle five months ago.

Wolfe’s title was based (says Wiktionary) on a proverb: past times that are fondly remembered are “irrecoverably in the past” and cannot be relived. We’re better off embracing the present. For me, that’s a 340-square-foot studio apartment at the base of Seattle’s First Hill neighborhood. I’m glad I made the move, but I’d been anxiously wondering if I’ll ever feel like it’s home.

Approaching the valley, I had a choice. I could drive at river level along the delta where the modest Okanogan River is swallowed by the mighty Columbia. Or I could climb to Brewster Flat to get an overview of the valley as it stretches north toward Canada. I’ve long favored that elevated route even though the view northward is limited. Valley walls turn and bend, shaped by glaciers eons ago. Entering the valley from above feels something like approaching C.S. Lewis’s wardrobe with its mysterious portal into the unknown.

Sure enough, as I descended and drove along the valley floor, there was a significant difference — not in what I was seeing but in what I was feeling. For all those years of frequent trips to and from Seattle, I’d enter the valley after four or five hours of driving with a sense of relief. Home and rest were mere minutes away. This time it all looked familiar — the ribbon of river winding through orchards and pastures, cattle grazing with calves at their sides, sagebrush steppes with occasional pine trees forming valley walls. Yet it felt strange. Strangely familiar.

I was apprehensive. If I no longer officially resided here, did that mean I no longer belonged? 

I have long maintained that the state of Washington is really two states — of mind. We are divided — east from west — by the Cascade mountain range, often referred to as the “Cascade Curtain,” reminiscent of the Iron Curtain of the Cold War. I’ve lived on both sides of the divide. Economic, cultural, and political differences between east and west are sharp. Doesn’t matter which side of the mountains you’re on, you’re going to hear unfair stereotypes and prejudices against the other side.

The Okanogan is one of the more economically deprived regions of the state. Before I moved, I’d become accustomed to symbols of what my late husband described as a “thin soil economy.” Substandard houses, junked cars, abandoned marijuana farms. Now I was seeing them with fresh eyes. It was a slap in the face, even though I also drove past lovely ranches and residential developments. Rich or poor, people stubbornly thrive. Most wouldn’t trade their single-wide for all the high-rises in Seattle. It takes grit and heart to survive in the Okanogan. 

I needn’t have worried about belonging. The embraces and deep conversations with friends all weekend long assured me that even though it was no longer “home,” I can and will continue to return and connect. 

Back in Seattle, I opened the door to my apartment and was surprised to feel a rush of relief: that sense of “I’m home!” I told that to a wise friend who has never lost her Texas way of speaking. “Well, honey,” she started out. “That’s because your home is inside of you.” I recall another old parable that says pretty much the same thing. Home is where …

Driving north into the Okanogan Valley
Photo from my files taken in June 2019